the other half of his soul
by almuerzo1
Summary: When Clarke thinks it's worth putting her life at risk, Bellamy decides to tell her what he thinks about it. It leads to a confession that has been years in the making. / Wishful thinking about season six, inspired in a tweet that I couldn't find after. / First part of "the other half of his soul."


**Before you start reading, I would like you to know something. I speak more Spanish than English, and I am not sure at what level I am in the language, so if you notice something strange in my writing, feel free to say it; I'd appreciate it. Actually I was just going to write this only in Spanish, but since the idea came from a tweet in English, I wanted to show it to that part of the fandom too, so ... I hope you enjoy!**

Working side by side with Clarke and Madi was one of the best things about landing on the new planet. Not only did he get to know them best, he was pleased to be how many new mannerisms Clarke got over the years, and the fact that a lot of things about her were the same he knew during his time on Earth.

When they arrived after getting in contact with some of the leaders, it only took a few weeks to reach an agreement. They were assigned some unexplored part of the land, but it was probably dangerous and they needed to split up to scout the terrain.

(It only take two days for him and Echo to figure it out that they weren't meant to be. When he tried his hardest to save the relationship, she told him that if he really wanted to be with her, he wouldn't need to. She was right. Everything changed the moment they reached the ground and Madi told them Clarke was alive.)

At the moment, not everyone was out of cryo sleep. Nobody wanted to deal with all of Blodreina's legacy until they were at least temporary settled.

Madi was in the middle of her explanation about the most recent mission (that was his and Clarke's, actually) when he heard it. Loud, sure, and bossy.

"I will."

Of course it was Clarke who talked. Who else could be? The universe had allowed him to breathe easy for five minutes, and his break was over.

He raised his head so quickly that he could already feel a headache forming. He was about to open his mouth to ask what the hell she was thinking, but Madi got up from her seat to raise a hand and call the attention of everyone in the room, including his. The look she gave Clarke was full of leadership, ordering her to stay still, but he had been there when Madi was about to take the gun to her side while they were in the Rover, and she knew she was scared. He was too.

It was a surprise to see that Clarke pursed her lips, but did not speak.

"Each one of you must choose a capable warrior who is capable of the work, and bring them here tomorrow at dawn. I want all of them ready to leave immediately," she ordered. They all left the room in order after nodding in her direction.

When they found themselves alone in the room once more, he saw Madi shed the mask of the commander. Thanks to Raven, they could find a way to control the damn chip and help her cling to her life and memories, using the resources of commanders only when she needed it, shedding the nightmares that haunted her every night.

(When he heard about it, he understood why Clarke had not wanted that for the girl who was like his daughter. He had lost count of the times he apologized since then.

He still did not understand how it was possible that she had forgiven him.)

"Madi," he called her with the same gentleness he had for her since he met her. "Can I talk with Clarke for a moment? Alone."

She nodded, and then walked to the door. "I'll be with Abby and Kane."

When he and Clarke were the only ones left, she didn't even raise her eyes from the map she was studying with a crinkle between her eyebrows and biting her lower lip.

"If you have something more to say about the mission—" she started, just to be interrupted abruptly by him.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" he growled.

The tone of his voice managed to get her attention, and it was as if the map vanished in the air. All her attention focused on him, and he would have forgotten about the furniture that were around were not for the fact that he was clutching the edge of a chair so tightly that his knuckles were white. Her eyes were wide and full of confusion, and a little bit of hurt at his harsh tone. She hadn't heard him that furious in—well, years. Nobody had.

"About what?" she asked, completely confused. "Me, saying I'll do it? I know I can, and we don't have time for someone who hasn't seen this kind of atmosphere in six years, Bellamy. We both know I'm the right choice for the job."

"No," he said, and his voice trembled as he walked towards her. "You're not. You can't—" he choked in the middle of the sentence, not knowing what to say.

 _You can't go, you can't leave again. Fuck, please don't leave me._

 _Stay, stay, stay._

But, it seemed that for once, she didn't get it, and he could see how hurt she was at his words (hell, he just wanted to keep her safe. Why was he making his job harder? She had suffered too much for the past few years, and he did not want that for her. Never more.) but then her eyes were full of fire and he could see how angry she was at him in that moment.

"I can and I will," she said, tilting her chin in that stubborn way she always did. It was one of the things that hadn´t changed through the years and he was glad for it. "I'm sorry if you still don't trust me, but I'm sure I can get the job done."

He tried to catch the words trapped in his throat, get them out and offer to her in the table. He wanted to give her his beating, bleeding heart, tell her to do what she wanted with it because it was hers since the moment she said he was not a monster and forgave him under the stars.

He hadn't that problem since Praimfaya. Yeah, he bickered around the others, and their discussions sometimes got heated, but he never had a problem before about speaking his mind. With Clarke, everything was different, and the words weren't enough, or they became completely useless around her, sometimes.

"I do trust you," he said, hoping she'll see the truth in his eyes, feel it in his words.

She did, but then made a strangled noise at the back of her throat at the mixed signals. "Then what is the fucking problem?"

"Let someone else do it! Choose them yourself! Make me leave, or—I don't know! Just—I can't— _you don't have to do this_ ," he pleaded the last part, almost in a whisper. "If you tell me it's worth the risk, I'll fucking go myself."

She blinked repeatedly, and he realized that she was trying to hide her tears. Fuck, the last thing he'd wanted was making her cry.

"I never should've said that," she said to him, and the intensity in her eyes made him shiver, just like the step she took towards him did. "It wasn't worth the risk. It never is when is about you."

"You can't be serious," he said out loud, retreating a couple of steps, because he knew what she meant by those words. It wasn't just a proof that said that she cared deeply about him, but what she thought about herself. "You can't go because you think it's worth the risk." When he saw the look in her eyes, he knew he had correctly guessed what she was thinking. "You're not. Fuck, Clarke, you are not worth that risk."

"Why not?" she asked, and she sounded so defiant, just like the moment they stepped out of the dropship and she asked him to follow her. He wanted to scream and cry, and kiss her so badly. "I made some terrible mistakes, Bellamy," she shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe this is my way to pay for it."

"There's no way to pay If you are—" He swallows, and chokes around the word. He doesn't want to put her name and that damn word in the same place ever again. After spending six years thinking it in his head, he doesn't want it. "If something happens to you, that's not going to fix things."

"Maybe not," she conceded. "But at least the people I care about will be safe."

"Are you really going to let Madi grow up without you?"

She closed her eyes at that, as if she could protect herself from those thoughts if she ignored them. "She'll have Kane and my mom." She looked at him. "She'll have you."

"She's going to need you!" His eyes had started stinging with unshed tears. "Do you really think everyone is better off without you?"

"I just know the facts, Bellamy. I killed the grounders outside the dropship, I made you help me to kill those on Mount Weather, and then the city of the light happened—the damn list—and this is just too much, alright? I made Madi's people get killed. I left you to die and then I betrayed Raven and my friends—and Monty and Harper are dead because of me. I'm tired of hearing them call me Wanheda! And if this is how I fix it—"

"No."

"You don't order me around, Bellamy!"

"I'm not—That's not what I'm trying to do here!"

She stepped closer, and jabbed a finger to his chest. The touch awakened something in him, and he felt like he was on fire. That's the exact moment when he realizes that that is what he wants for the rest of his life. It doesn't matter if Clarke doesn't feel the same and he is destined to be a friend. He wanted what he was feeling. The fire, the intensity, the sparks, the warmth. Eyes as blue as the sky, pale skin undiscovered and waves of golden hair. The other half of his soul.

He doesn't know why he pretended want anything else.

"I'm going out there, and get the job done, no matter what you say, okay?" Their chests were brushing against each other's, their breaths shallow, ragged. Neither of them wanted to give an inch and let the other win. "I've been taking care of myself for six years in a world full of radiation! Why are you being this difficult about this? If you really trust me, then why—"

"Because I'm in love with you!" he shouted. " _That's why!"_

He did not want to scream at her, or tell her that way. He'd planned to continue pining after her in secret, as he had always done. He was going to thank the universe every day for the opportunity it had given him to see her smile, for the fact that she had given him forgiveness once more.

Of course he was going to ruin it like that.

The silence stretched for what appeared to be an eternity, and he feared that this time they wouldn't function after his confession, that the awkwardness would be too much and she wouldn't want to talk to him anymore. It was going to be the worst, if he had to live like that. Seeing her, and not being able to be with her in any way, not even as friends.

And she just stayed there, wide-eyed, not saying a word, and looking awestruck. She seemed to be trying to absorb every detail of his face, like she did a long time ago, when she ran to him at the gates of Camp Jaha.

"Fuck," he muttered, covering his face with his hands. "I didn't want to say it like this, alright? But you are brave, and stubborn, and you want to do everything by yourself to prove something you don't need to, and you just—" He shook his head, and ran a hand through his curls, taking a deep breath, trying to calm down the wild beating of his heart. "Now you want to leave for a mission, thinking that no one would care if something happens to you, trying to take _this_ as your chance for redemption. Well, guess what? Madi cares. Your mom and our friends do, too. And I—" He used his arms to point out the way he was at that moment. Completely shattered. "I'm a mess just with the idea of losing you again. You know how it feels when you lose somebody you love— _please_ , don't make me go through that again. _I can't._ I'm not that strong."

He wasn't worried anymore, about the fact that she didn't seem to find words to reply. Not when he was able to recognize the look in her eyes. Full of wonder, and fear at the same time.

She got closer, and put a hand on his shoulder. "You're the strongest, bravest man I know. You can do anything— _you can_ go through anything."

"Not this, Clarke." He knew how empty he sounded, but his words held an awful truth she should've seen coming. He went through that, for years. He knew what it was like. He wouldn't be able to do that again, not when he'd already had her in his arms. " _Not this._ "

"You can," she assured him, and it didn't escape him the fact that she hadn't said anything about his confession. "You will."

"Not this time," he repeated, looking at her the way he always wanted to, without reserves. With pain and fear, with love and devotion. With everything he had on his heart. "Clarke— _I need you_."

She smiled, sadly, and a tear made its way rolling down her cheek. He dried it with his thumb at the same moment her hand went to the place in his chest where his heart was supposed to be. He cupped her cheek and saw how she tried to swallow the lump in her throat.

"You don't. You never needed me. You already mourn me once; it would be easier for all of you to move on."

"It won't be easier." She tried to avoid his gaze, but he took her jaw gently and made her look at him. "Hey— _hey,_ hear me out: it won't. I saw you again, I felt you against my fingers. It would hurt like a bitch. Or it would leave me numb for days, and someone would've to drag me out of bed and force food down my throat." He took a deep breath. "I barely survived the last time. I don't think I can do it all over again."

"You can," she repeated, and he realized she was mostly trying to convince herself about it. As if she could erase the words from her mind that way. She cupped his cheek and he leaned into her touch by instinct, closing his eyes at the feel of her skin in his. He'd always been there. Wanting, loving, waiting. "I need you here," she whispered, strangled. "I want _you_ to take care of her."

(It almost sounded like "I love you".)

"I am the one who always needed you," she cried. "All the time."

She blinked, and then there were more tears, and he dried them all. She let her hands fall and then he was there, closer, looking at her and using his hands to cradle her face.

"I love you," he said, again, because now that she knew, he didn't want to hide anymore. He couldn't. Not in that moment, knowing how badly she thought of herself. She deserved someone who told her every minute of every day how strong she was; how brave, and kind, and amazing. She deserved to know how loved she was. "I'm so, so in love—"

"Don't," she said, taking his wrists. Even if he had known beforehand the answer she would give him, his heart broke anyway. Her eyes were sharp, and that word hurt him like a knife. Her voice was low, as if she did not want that moment recognized for either of them. Her eyes kept a secret hidden underneath, and he was desperate to drown in it, even if he didn't know what the mystery was. It was as if she was avoiding talking in more than sighs and whispers, trying to keep everything as unreal to her as she could. "Please—don't say it," she'd closed her eyes like she was on pain, but she didn't lessen the hold on his wrists.

"Why?" It was obvious in the tremble of his voice, how much damage she'd done with her words, but at least he needed to know. "Why can't I say it? I've been carrying this with me during years, and—"

She laughed bitterly, eyes watery. "I wish this was real, just like all those dreams—" she trailed off, and he wondered briefly if she'd dreamed about them, too. About what if's, wasted chances and meaningless last words. "But you're just saying it because you don't want me to go, and this isn't fair. Is not fair of you to say those words when they are pretty much all I've wanted to hear from you for years," she sounded wrecked, and her eyes were full of troubled emotions. "Please don't make me stay here for a lie. You don't have any idea—"

She was about to let go of his wrists when he stepped even closer, while the hope blossomed on his chest. Their faces were inches apart, and he could feel her breath on his neck. She sucked in a breath at the closeness, as if she was suddenly realizing it, but didn't step back.

"It's not a lie, Clarke" he said, leaning in to press their foreheads together. He knew his expression was given her too much, but she seemed to need it. "I do love you. I—" He huffed, trying to grasp the right words. "I have loved you for years, and I'm not saying this just because you want to leave. I don't know how not to love you since the moment you asked me to stay and offered me forgiveness. Even when we fought, when you left, or when you kept me at arm's length—I've loved you, even when I thought you were dead, or when you left me in Polis and I believed that you didn't care for me anymore."

"I was hurt," she murmured, and it sounded like an apology, even if they had talked about it before. "I thought you didn't consider me part of your family anymore."

"I know," Bellamy replied. "And I will never stop apologizing for that mistake."

Like always, they were in sync. He wrapped his arms around her, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck, letting her tears fall on his shirt. He didn't care about how messy they were, they were Bellamy and Clarke, and he needed her, just as much she needed him. He loved her more than he'd ever loved in his life, so he stopped pretending to be okay with everything they went through the last months, the last seven years of their lives, and embraced her with all his might.

"You radioed me," His voice was muffled by the skin of her neck, but he felt how every muscle of her frame tensed at his words. "Every day. For six years?"

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you tell me? That night, by the fire, I asked you how you survived, and you told me that you had Madi. That you weren't alone."

"I had you, too." She separated from his body so she could look into his eyes, searching for something. When she found what she was looking for, she sighed. "I talked to you because I needed it. I needed you, and I missed you every single day. And when I wasn't talking to you, I was telling Madi about you, or drawing you. I was sure I wouldn't forget you, but I didn't want to take the risk." She stroked his cheek and then brushed a curl off his face. "You always seemed to save me, even when you weren't with me."

" _You_ saved _me_ ," he corrected her.

She scoffed, looking away. "That's not the truth. You kept me alive more than once." She licked her lips but didn't notice the way his eyes followed the movement. "When I woke up after Praimfaya, I was so mad at myself. I wished I could've said a lot of things I didn't. _You always saved me_."

When she looked at him, again, she was surprised to discover how close he was. He could see it in her eyes. The shyness and nervousness.

"Let me save you once more, then," he sighed the words against her mouth. So, so close. Her eyes drifted to his mouth, and his heart nearly stopped. "Let me go with you. Let me—We'll do this together. We'll protect each other, as we have always done."

Her lips trembled, and he was sure she was about to cry. He was prepared to reassure her, but every logical thought left his brain when she closed the gap between them and her hands tangled in his hair, making him lean in her direction.

The first brush of their lips was everything he hadn't allowed himself to imagine. It was every tear shed, every battle scar, and every minute they couldn't spend with each other. However, it was also every smile, every conspiratorial look and every time they offered forgiveness to each other.

It was more than a physical sensation. It was as if their souls were connecting, and their heat mingled in that room. Her fingers tangled in his curls, as he had imagined they would in every fantasy he had allowed himself to have before he had woken up. His hands were first on her waist, before he decided to stroke her back with one and hold the back of her neck with the other.

"I love you," she confessed when they had to separate to breathe. "I love you so much."

He smiled. He couldn't remember the last time he had smiled so wide, or felt that kind of happiness spread to every inch of his body. But, well, Clarke was alive, and she was there, right next to him. She had kissed him, and she had just told him she felt the same.

"We'll do it together," she confirmed in a whisper, before kissing him once more.


End file.
